Scarlet
by rscoil
Summary: Erik is working as a makeup artist at a haunted house when he meets a new performer. A modern, lighter take on Silver Tallest's fic "Consumed."
1. Chapter 1

Erik was packing his kit when there was a knock at his door.

"Hi! Are you Erik?"

He stood up, taking in the woman in the doorway. "I am. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm new. The managers said you could squeeze me in? I know it's short notice."

"It is," he grumbled. The haunt opened tomorrow and they were _still_ sending him new performers?

He gestured to the empty chair. "Come on in."

She gave him a shy smile that he tried to return. The latex appliances on his face had already been in place for sixteen hours, and his skin was screaming for freedom. Now, it'd be at least another hour before he could leave.

"I'm Christine, by the way."

"Pleasure to meet you," he said as he reopened his kit. "Now, Christine, how did your character die?"

She handed him a sheet of paper. "I don't have one set character, actually. I'm the fill in person if someone is out sick."

Erik read the list of a dozen different character designs and glanced at the clock. "We don't have time to do all of these tonight, so just pick one for now." He started pulling out brushes, mentally drafting a scathing email to management.

"'Waffle Wife '" she read aloud. "'A 1950s housewife with her face marred by a burn from a waffle iron. Threatens guests with breakfast-themed insults.' Who comes up with these?"

"I wish I knew," Erik said. "Is that your pick?"

She nodded and he set to work.

"There's a wireless speaker up there if you want to play music from your phone."

She flicked through her phone's music library. "Any preferences?"

"I don't really care. Just play your regular playlist. None of that sanitized 'I won't play this. He'll think I'm weird' stuff."

The speaker came to life and _Carmen_ filled the room. "Opera? That's a first."

She laughed. "What can I say? I'm an old soul."

"Is that so?" His hand paused a few inches from her face. "Try not to freak out. I need to work on your eye."

"Do what you need to do," she agreed. "Do a lot of people freak out when you do eyes?"

He swiped the eyeliner across her top lid, ending the line with a perfect point. "Most people aren't good at having other people touch their eyes. I'm not good at it myself, in fact." He grinned conspiratorially. "Men are also a lot more difficult in that regard. They like the idea of being these scary monsters, up until I bring a brush near their eyes."

"You have pretty eyes, you know. They're like amber."

He met her gaze as he began work on the "burnt" side of her face, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you. A genetic anomaly, I suppose."

"That's your real eye color? No contacts?"

"Not at all." He began shading her cheek. "Just a few more minutes over here. Then, I'll finish your lips and you'll be all set."

"What? No stuff glued to my face?"

"Maybe for some of these," he gestured to the list. "But there's only so much I can do between time and budget constraints. They don't have the money for face appliances a lot of the time, and certainly not custom ones. They want Hollywood effects on a shoestring budget." He sighed. "It's a good thing I'm clever."

He passed her a hand mirror. "See for yourself."

She smiled at him. "A work of art."

* * *

So began their routine of music and makeup every weekend. Erik found her to be his most agreeable subject. And, if he was being honest with himself, he was showing off. The more he stretched his skills, the more commendation he received from Christine. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't inflating his ego a little.

She really was beautiful, he thought. Tonight's look was a demented pixie and he was going to town with gradients of blue glitter. He finished her eyes and moved on to her pliant lips. How would it feel to kiss those lips?

He shook himself. It would never happen. Even disregarding his face, he was just the awkward guy who did her makeup. Surely, she would never be interested in him otherwise.

He handed her the mirror and she grinned at him. "You've outdone yourself again. I can't decide if I like the macabre ones or the pretty ones more." She took a deep breath. "There's something I wanted to ask you. I'm assuming you like creepy stuff since you work at a haunted house? Well, there's this Edgar Allan Poe reading in town on Tuesday. I was thinking of going. Would you want to come?"

"You would want me to come?"

"I wouldn't have asked you otherwise, silly. What do you think? We could maybe consider it a first date?"

The warmth on Erik's cheeks had nothing to do with the latex. "I would love to."

* * *

She stood outside the bookshop, a vision in a black lace dress. Erik thought that he had never seen a more beautiful woman, and, amazingly, she was waiting for him.

"You look lovely."

Her eyes swept over his tall frame. "You clean up pretty well yourself. A waistcoat, too!"

He ran a self-conscious hand over the fabric. "I figured, if not for Poe, when else? Do you think it's too much?"

"Of course not. I think you look perfect. Have you done something different with your hair?"

"Yes. I put in effort." She didn't need to know exactly how many hours of wig styling it had taken to get the perfect amount of tousle.

They passed a small coffee bar on the way to the event room. "Can I get you something?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I'm just here for the literature."

"I'm going to get something. Are you sure?"

"Positive. I'll meet you inside."

When he rejoined her, it was with a hot chocolate and a large cookie in hand. "The cookie looked too good to pass up. Can I tempt you?"

She shook her head just as the first speaker walked in.

Erik shrugged and dug into the cookie himself, wondering whether "refuses chocolate" was a deal breaker in a relationship. Halfway through "The Tell-Tale Heart", she slid her hand into his and he decided he didn't care.

* * *

"I had a wonderful time," she told him as he spread green paint over her skin.

"As did I."

"Would you want to go out again?"

"I would, if you'll have me. There's a silent horror movie marathon next Thursday night. Live organ music. Do you want to go? We could maybe have dinner beforehand."

"Can I just meet you at the theater?"

"If that's what you'd like, then sure. I'm a little concerned, though. Don't you eat?"

She laughed. "Don't worry. I'm just a very picky eater."

* * *

"The season ends on Halloween. I was thinking of having a costume party to celebrate. Would you come?"

Erik pulled back from the scale pattern he was shading across her forehead. "I'm not fond of crowds, but I'd brave it for you."

"And one last makeup for the season? I'm thinking of being a raven."

"I'll bring my kit."

"Fantastic! I'll try to duck out early so you have time to work. What are they going to do? Fire me on the last day of the season?"

* * *

Erik pulled into the driveway and his jaw dropped. A picturesque gothic Victorian stood before him. It was a house he'd only seen in his dreams, a dream he could never afford.

He was admiring the carving on the front door when she opened it.

"You don't have to stand on the porch all night. You're allowed to come in."

"This is where you live?"

"Pretty much. My dad came from money."

He followed her into the foyer, a glittering chandelier hanging high over their heads.

"Are you Red Death? I must say, the makeup is very convincing. I almost wish you looked like that full time."

Erik's smile was tight-lipped, the air cool on his uncovered face. "Yes, Madame Giry in costumes helped me out."

"She made my dress, too. I can't wait for you to see it, but we have to get my face on first." Christine led him into a small parlor and sat on a tall chair. "Ready when you are."

There was something both familiar and strange about this night. The dim light of stained glass lamps replaced the fluorescent lights he was used to. Instead of his tiny speaker system, an antique player piano tinkled in the background.

He took his time, gently turning Christine's head to let the lamplight dance in her eyes. He lined them with bold swathes of black before stepping back to admire his work. He rested a hand on her cheek, careful not to disturb his work.

She closed her eyes. "There are few things in this world that I enjoy more than the feeling of your hands. You have the most beautiful hands. Do you know that?"

"Beautiful is not a word that people apply to me."

"Then people are wrong," she said simply. "I could not describe any of the makeup you've done for me, but I could describe in detail how you look as you work. You look as though you've kicked a puppy whenever you make anything scary, but you bite your lip in the most adorable way. And when you make something beautiful, you get this wistful look." She placed her hand on his, holding it to her cheek. "And when you paint my lips, your eyes look so wonderfully warm, just as they do now."

Erik lowered his hand.

"The red lipstick, I think." Her voice was velvet.

"I agree." He traced the curve of her lips with blood red pigment. Tonight, he would find the nerve to claim them, even if it killed him.

He stood back to appreciate the full picture. "You are magnificent."

She smiled at him with those flawless lips and tugged him to the foyer. "Wait here."

Time slowed as he waited, and it froze altogether when she appeared at the top of the stairs. She descended like a queen of shadows and he found that he could barely breathe.

"Let me show you the ballroom."

If he had loved the rest of the house, it was nothing compared to the ballroom. Antique mirrors lined the walls, showing the distorted reflection of another chandelier and an incredible number of candles.

He was grateful for the distortion. Without it, he would have stared bitterly at his unmasked face for the entire night. As it was, he could only see a blot of scarlet from his costume. Beside him, Christine seemed to blend into the reflected shadows.

The piano music transformed into a waltz. Erik felt his arms move around Christine, holding her to him. Surely he was dreaming. This was too perfect to be reality.

The piano fell silent and she gazed up at him. Now was the time. He could feel it.

Ever so slowly, he leaned down to taste those perfect lips. She kissed him back fiercely, and her arms came around his neck.

There was only Christine. Only his arms around her waist, the frantic beating of his heart, and the sudden stab of pain in his neck.

He crumpled in her arms. She lowered him gently to the marble floor, his cape spread below him like a pool of blood. She knew better. The final drops of his blood mingled with the red of her lipstick as his body stilled. She ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"Welcome to eternity, my love."


	2. Chapter 2

He was cold. So very cold.

Christine's face swam into focus above him and he dimly registered that his head rested in her lap.

"Christine?"

"I'm here, love."

He turned his head and a jolt of pain shot through his neck. He raised hesitant fingers to the area. The skin was punctured, but it wasn't bleeding. He pressed on the wound and again felt a blaze of pain.

Above him, Christine grinned with too-sharp teeth. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"You're-?"

"Yes, dear."

"And you bit me." He bolted to his feet. "You bit me, but I'm still standing. You made me a vampire."

"I need to explain—"

"No..." His breath hitched as he collapsed in the corner of the room. "It can't be. I can't be..." He shuddered. "At least before, I could lay a claim to humanity, but now...how can I live? Is this even life? Am I to exist in misery for eternity?"

"Erik?"

He looked up at her, teetering on the verge between tears and a blind rage. "How could you?"

"What?"

"You had no right. None at all. You had no authority to make this decision on my behalf." He stood to his full height. "You've condemned me. How could you think I'd want this?"

"Just breathe." She reached for his hand, but he backed away. "Go and wash your face. I'm sure you're suffocating under all that makeup."

"What?" He ran a hand over the skin of his cheek. "But Christine, didn't you know? This is my real face. A face of death! How nice a couple we make, Christine. The corpse and his undead beauty!" The laugh that spilled from his lips was nearly a cackle.

"Look, Christine!" He whipped off his wig with the flair of a medieval courtesan. The sparse hair beneath waved erratically. "Am I not handsome? A proper Don Juan if I do say so myself." A bitter laugh tore from his throat.

"Erik." The command in her tone left no room for argument. "Stop, please. I didn't turn you."

"What?" His hand flew to the wound at his throat. To his surprise, it was nearly closed.

"I didn't turn you. In fact, it would be impossible." She raised a hand to his face and, this time, he didn't back away. "Do you remember when we met, and I asked about your eyes?"

"What do my eyes have to do with anything?"

"They're gold. It's an uncommon color, and for good reason. It's the mark of a blood host." She bit her lip. "A blood host is a human who is immune to vampire venom, and whose blood replenishes quickly. Basically, a vampire can drink from you again and again, but is not able to kill you."

"Is that all I am to you? Tell me, what is it like to drink from a corpse?"

She guided his hand until it rested over his heart. "Do you feel that?" His heart was beating erratically against his ribcage. "You are alive. Do you know what a gift that is?"

She moved his hand to her own sternum. But for her breathing, all was still. "My heart has not beat in over a century, Erik. If there is a corpse in this room, it is not you."

"Have you been alone all that time?"

"Not quite." She gave him a sad little smile. "There was a boy I knew from my childhood. The woman who turned me set me upon him as my first target. As it turned out, he was a blood host, like you. He survived." She chuckled. "That was a very awkward conversation. Not unlike this one, in fact. His name was Raoul. You would have liked him."

"What happened then?"

"We lived happily ever after until he died in 1942. I've been alone ever since."

"Did you...feed from him?"

"Does it bother you that I did? It was an unusual part of our relationship, but it worked for us. It's thanks to him that I've kept my innocence."

"You haven't killed anyone?"

"No. He left me with a small blood supply and I had easy access to him prior to that. I was sated until around 2000. From what I can tell, the thirst only becomes apparent around the length of a human lifespan. A life taken for every new life of mine, at least in theory. You're the only blood host I've met, apart from Raoul. It's exceedingly rare."

She looked away from him, wringing her hands. "I'm sorry for losing control earlier. After so many years of denying the thirst, having you so close was intoxicating. I couldn't resist." She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. "Can you forgive me?"

"And what becomes of us if I do?"

"I can give you whatever you'd like. If that happens to be freedom, then so be it."

He closed his eyes. "All I've wanted my whole life was to be wanted for myself. I thought you might be different, but it sounds like you only need me for a service. Just like everyone else."

"That's not true," she said quietly. "Even if you never allow me to drink from you, I would still want to be in your life."

"That's like being friends with a juice box."

"It's not so bad, especially when the juice box is one of the sweetest men I've ever encountered." She moved toward him, but stopped. Her tone turned serious. "Would you consider it? Seriously? Would you stay with me? Money can buy a lot of things, but it can't buy good companionship."

He looked away and ran a hand over the now healed bite mark on his neck. In truth, it had barely hurt. If he knew what to expect, if she was gentle, then maybe...

"I've never met a lonelier soul than yours, Erik." Her voice disrupted his train of thought. "I know you try to hide it with quips and banter, but loneliness practically radiates off you. Have you ever had a home with someone who loved you?"

He shifted uncomfortably, but she continued. "I had a home like that all of my life, first with my father, and then with Raoul. When Raoul died, I remember feeling so empty. It was like all the color had gone from the world. Everything was a dreary gray. But then, I met you." An affectionate smile formed on her lips. "My sweet, wonderful Erik, with his sharp tongue and beautiful voice. And every new color you put on my face brought a bit of the color back to the world. I have hope now, Erik, and that's thanks to you. You taught me to see beauty again, and I can't thank you enough."

Erik shook himself. Was he actually considering this? Spending his life as a food source? Was that all he was good for?

But then, Christine didn't treat him like an inferior. Despite his edibility, she gave him more respect than anyone else ever had. For so long, he'd been a ghost in his own life, simply going through the motions. It was Christine who brought him to life.

And hadn't she just said the very same thing about him? They were better together. If he was honest with himself, he knew on that night in the bookstore that he could never be the same. The idea of existing without her was unthinkable.

He finally looked at Christine. Her eyes pleaded with him as he crossed the space between them. For the second time that night, his lips descended upon hers.

A promise had been made, and that promise would be kept.


End file.
